ANKARA, Oct. 23 (Xinhua) -- Outside the historic Haci Bayram Mosque in Ankara, the capital of Türkiye, strangers reached for golden pieces of lokma, a traditional fried dough sweet soaked in syrup. For Adnan Kirbas, the treats carried a meaning far beyond their sweetness.
The retired Ankara resident had arranged for the sweets to be distributed to the public to mark the second anniversary of his mother's death. Each serving he handed to a stranger was a small tribute to the mother he still deeply missed.
"This is part of our tradition," Kirbas told Xinhua.
As the pastries passed from hand to hand, strangers became part of a family's act of remembrance. They offered prayers and blessings. Their kind words brought comfort to a son still seeking ways to honor his mother's memory.
Their prayers, Kirbas said, helped ease the grief of those mourning a loved one, reminding them that they did not have to bear their sorrow alone.
Fried dough sweets are enjoyed across the Mediterranean and the Middle East, while charitable food-sharing traditions take different forms across cultures. In Türkiye, this practice takes a distinctive form known as hayir lokmasi, or charity lokma, in which freshly prepared sweets are distributed free of charge to the public to honor deceased loved ones or mark joyful occasions, such as births and personal achievements.
Families typically hire a mobile lokma van, where a specialist prepares and fries batches of yeast-based dough on site, coats the golden pieces in light sugar syrup, and serves them on small disposable plates with toothpicks.
For Ankara shopkeeper Serkan Erdogan, the tradition carries a similar personal significance. The previous week, he had arranged for lokma to be distributed in memory of both his late father and his wife's late father.
Erdogan learned the custom from older generations and hopes his children will carry it on. Yet he worries that younger people are gradually drifting away from such traditions in an increasingly digital age.
"We are trying to pass certain things on to the younger generation, but we have not been very successful," he said.
His concern points to what is at stake beyond lokma itself: a tradition that draws people out of their private lives and encourages them to share with others.
Ismail Kadir Aran, a lokma maker who began learning the family trade at the age of 13, summed it up simply: "People want to share their happiness and their sadness with others. That is why they offer these treats."
The sweets soon disappear. But the remembrance, shared among hundreds of strangers, lingers a little longer.
